Chapter 3: Chapter 2 — Blowing Up A Vampire Dive Bar!

[Stuttgart, Germany, 21st Century]

 

“Hey, guys…” Spider-Man popped his head through the entrance of the bar. “...uh, did you two also get a mes—”

 

“Yes…” Logan sneered. 

 

Spider-Man instantly pulled his head back outside.

 

Logan slammed his bottle back on the table—he looked over at Amelia—a smile almost peaking its way in. “…told you he’s fun.”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, listening as Spider-Man high-fived another person—telling them in broken German; ‘Du bist kalt!’—he thinks he is calling them cool, because well, they are cool, but he actually told them they are cool as in, the temperature.

 

She wasn’t able to hide her smile like Logan.

 

“Covert doesn’t mean much to him, does it?” Amelia took a long drawn-out sip of her drink. “He also doesn’t seem nervous, like this isn’t going to turn into an absolute bloodbath at a moment's notice.”

 

While Spider-Man was being an unofficial greeter—Logan and Amelia were on the lookout inside.

 

The Flying Pint—a rugged hole in the wall located between a bakery and a diner. It was an older bar, the original wood finish still lined the floors and countertops, while a similar shading of brown covered the walls. The windows were fragmented pieces of stained glass—collaged together in no particular way, it just was. The low-hanging lights looked like they hadn’t been dusted in over a decade and the floor had been scrapped so many times by the chairs and tables that it would probably eventually be sold as an antique art piece of some kind. It truly was an old bar, if the outdated everything didn’t scream it, the pictures that hung up on the bar would. The walls were lined with pictures—some framed, others were just pinned in with a tac. 

 

Logan recognized a lot of the faces in them, even those that had dates somewhere in the early 18th century. His mutant power of regeneration has given him an extended life already, but some more recent breakthroughs on Krakoa have made his life capable of extending even further beyond the centuries it already has behind it.

 

“So kid, what made ya wanna try out for X-Force?” Logan finished his bottle, grabbing a second one from in front of him. “Was it all the free booze?” He downed the drink in less than a handful of seconds, burping loudly, stirring a cheer from the bar. “Because that sure helps keep me around.”

 

Amelia pulled his empty bottle into the pile, knocking some of them into the wall. The sound echoed slightly, bringing one of the waiters back over abnormally quick. 

 

“I apologize for all those bottles sir and madam…”

 

Amelia examined him as he gathered the bottles—he piled them slowly onto a tray, humming softly as he did.

 

He was tall and slender, wearing a white button-down shirt that had the bar logo embroidered on the left chest—it was tucked into his black dress pants where a match black belt was wrapped around his waist.

 

“...could I get you anything else?”

 

She continued to watch with his eyes—his pale skin was nothing like she had ever seen before. Amelia had foughten a few vampires in her time, but they didn’t look anything remotely like this. These vampires were civilized, well mannered, none of them even gave Amelia or Logan a second look when they came in. A few even took photos with Spider-Man out front to show him the reflection trick. 

 

“I do actually…” Amelia slid her now empty bottle closer toward him. 

 

He grabbed it, his pale hand touching her fingers slightly as they exchanged it.

 

Amelia pulled back abruptly.

 

The man dropped his smile.

 

“I’m so sorry, miss…”

 

“Oh it’s no problem, I just wasn’t expecting it to be so cold.”

 

“...I understand, we usually wear gloves but I seem to have forgotten mine today.”

 

“That’s convenient.” Logan chimed in.

 

He moved his head over toward the man, moving the last of the bottles to the edge.

 

“Can’t stab me with dem sharp ass nails huh.” 

 

Logan pushed himself outward in his chair, quickly standing up in front of the man. 

 

He came to the man’s chest, maybe even a bit lower, and his attire of faded, ripped jeans—brown boots that look like they should have been thrown away six decades ago—red and white flannel—and a tan cowboy hat—wasn’t helping him look any more intimidating than his height was.

His adamantium claws extended from between his knuckles, drawing attention from the rest of the bar—whispering crawling throughout.

 

“Yeah, now y'all start’n to recognize me.”

 

Amelia stood up, extending out an arm between the two of them. She placed a hand on Logan’s chest, pulling him back slightly.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Don’t you see kid, the gig is up, Drac ain’t coming, it’s a trap, Pete ain’t been outside for this entire little bottle gathering distraction.”

 

Amelia looked behind her through the little window that Spider-Man had been standing in front of moments before.

“Shit…” she turned around, glaring at the waiter. “...where did you take him?”

 

He looked down at her, his tall stature truly showing once they were this close.

 

“I did not take him anywhere, and I want you both to know, this isn’t a trap set by lord Dracula.”

 

Logan sniffed the air around him, standing on his toes to sniff the man’s neck.

 

“Son ofa bitch is tell’n the truth, I don’t smell no killing intent on em, but I smell it on almost everyone else here…” Logan looked around, removing his cowboy hat, revealing his thick black hair. He was looking and smelling—trying to sniff out who amongst them was actually on their side. “...if it wasn’t for Moon Knight’s sidekick being a vamp, I wouldn’t trust ya, but here we are…” he retracted his claws and stepped away from the man—he nudged himself against Amelia whispering in her ear. “I think shit is about to get a lot more interest’n.” he turned around next to her, looking back at the waiter. “...if this ain’t a trap, where is Pete and who do you need me to kill that betrayed ya?”

 

The waiter smiled and the entire bar filled with whispers and murmurs.

 

“Wolverine, they were right about you, you aren’t just all claws and grunts, my name is Lord Morbius.”

 

Morbius moved the tray to his left—two other vampires quickly ran over, grabbing the tray and clearing the rest of their table of bottles. He grabbed a chair pulling it over toward them, stopping it just before Logan’s boots.

 

“May we sit?”

 

Logan looked at Amelia, her pale brown eyes had started to fill with smoke—he could see her concentrating hard to repress her powers—both sets of them. 

 

“It’s alright kid, no need to burn your clothes just yet.”

 

Amelia let out a sigh—a visible heatwave came from her mouth, causing Morbius to move the chair slightly to the left.

 

“So you are the dark presence that everyone here is so afraid of?” Morbius smiled at Amelia, placing his chair on the floor. “I can also assure you Wolverine…” he moved his gaze to Logan. “...Mr. Parker is just fine, as for those who still have killing intent and wish to betray us…” he nodded at Logan then turned around abruptly tossing his chair at the bartender with incredible speed. The chair was so fragile that it had turned into shards of wood, impaling the bartender a hundred times over. He fell back into the wall at first—the mirror shattered—glasses and bottles fell onto the floor—his body slumped forward, lifeless, then completely collapsed behind the bar. “...we will have to deal with them ourselves.”

 

Logan extended his claws back out, nudging Amelia again with his elbow. 

 

“Don’t burn the place down unless it looks like Pete is gonna die, don’t worry about me.”

 

Without another word, Logan began to show the bar just why he was called Wolverine.

 

Amelia watched for a few brief moments—allowing her mutant power to manifest. 

 

The flames that covered her body were a soft shade of blue—they bent and curved into the shape of a thin samurai’s armor—even the finer details were etched into the flames. The two who tried to attack her were quickly turned into a cloud of ash, causing the others to step back in fear.

 

This wasn’t the dark power that Morbius was referring to either, this was just her mutant power.

 

Amelia Diaz, a younger woman from Uruguay—no one really knows where she is from in the country—this is where her second power comes into play.

 

She was given the name Bellona when she first came to Krakoa, but it wasn’t because of her powers—it was her lineage.

 

Amelia comes from a tribe that has been guarding the same flame for over one million years. 

 

This tiny blue flame, once per generation, gives two individuals in the tribe a piece of its fire—granting them a fraction of the Devil’s Power. 

 

They call themselves The Spirit Tribe and the name of the flame they guard is called The Spirit of Vengeance—and with Amelia’s mutant gene allowing her to absorb the energy around her, thus feeding the flames, it has been trying to consume her for years.

 

Amelia watched as Logan shifted into his Wolverine persona, his pupils dilating as he moved from words of aggression to grunts of rage. She had seen it before and she will undoubtedly see it again, but every time is like watching a light bulb go dark. He ran through the bar of vampires, leaving almost no one in his wake. 

 

As the fight continued more vampires began to burst through the front door and windows.

 

“Well then.”

 

Amelia looked around her as they circled, still staying away from the flames—they would glance back, trying to decide between the flames or the claws. A few disbursed after Morbius, but none made it close enough to try thanks to Wolverine.

 

“Wolve says I can’t light this place up…” she glared through the opening of her helmet. “...didn’t say I couldn’t rough up all of you though.” 

 

Just as Wolverine had displayed before, Amelia began to dance to the melody that is Bellona. 

 

She stuck out her hand—a magical circle etched in orange and red flames appeared on the floor below it. The circle opened and a long white staff extended out from within. Bellona grabbed onto it, tightening her grip upon it. The flames of her armor spread to the weapon, their color shifting to a brilliant mix of yellow and red as they coated the staff. 

 

She swung it outward, widening the perimeter of vampires around her, smirking as she did. “Yeah, it’s gonna be even harder to get close to me…” The staff lunged forward, piercing straight through the vampire in front of her in the blink of an eye—it slowly retracted back. “...gonna be even harder to see me coming.”

 

Bellona’s name hails from the Greek Goddess of War, and just like the Goddess, she was a spectacle to watch on the battlefield—her feet moved like that of a ballerina, swiveling across the floor with such fluid motion, you would believe she was skating on ice and the way she moved her staff was no different. The staff moved effortlessly around her, gliding off the air like a brush, each stroke showing more and more of the bigger picture and who was truly winning the fight.

 

Wolverine was moving his way back to Bellona, with Morbius covering behind him, but it was getting more difficult. The windows of the bar had been all but completely erased from existence, replaced by a sea of vampires, all trying to get inside for the kill. “Jesus Christ, they are like the fucking roaches, thought you said we had some on our side?” Wolverine cut through another, just as Morbius moved in front of him. They were moving slowly, and Morbius was saying nothing, only fighting. He looked a few meters in front of him at Bellona. There were so many of them, it was becoming harder and harder to swing and worst of all he wasn’t sure how much longer until this entire thing was going to spill out across Germany. “Ah shit.” Wolverine grabbed onto Morbius, pulling him backward. “Listen or die, take me to Pete, this was a fucking trap.” Morbius’ eyes widened, realizing how much the odds were not in his favor. He nodded swiftly, pulling Wolverine toward the back of the bar. 

 

“Come!” Morbius took off, cutting his way through the horde.

 

Wolverine called out to Bellona; ‘Burn it down kid, we can’t let them flood Germany!’

 

Bellona swung her staff through the air, decapitating another row; ‘But Peter wanted me to say that silly line for him the next time I did!’

 

Wolverine dove forward, driving his claws through two vampire’s chests at once—he grumbled.

 

“What the fu…just do it!”

 

Bellona swung the staff one last time, creating a small perimeter of flames around her.

 

“Sorry Peter, next time.” 

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She rolled her neck, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath—she held it for a moment, channeling the energy in the air into a funnel.

 

“Here we go.”

 

The armor of flames exploded into a dome of fire, expanding through the bar, sending a tunnel of fire through the windows. The energy she had gathered around her absorbed into the flames, running up her neck and over her face. Her wavy brown hair dropped from its usual afro style, instantly turning to ash as the flesh of her face began to peel like the pages of a book. Piece by piece burned and turned to ash, fading away as the circle of fire slowed. As more of her skull was revealed the flames tucked themselves inside, filling the sockets with flames.

 

She finally exhaled the held breath, pulling the fire back toward her, tucking it inside her chest. The room had been charred, and the vampires that had been under the mound of corpses had been protected from the flames. She walked up to one of them lifting them upward as the skull of her head came into full view. The flames in the sockets spiral outward, taking over her head in a mix of red, yellow, and orange. 

 

“Look into my eeeyyyessss...” The vampires’ eyes burned from their sockets as they let out a disgusting cry for help. “…burn for your siiinnnns…” the flesh of her hand began to melt off—she dropped the vampire, stumbling back. “…no.”

 

Bellona pulled back, dropping to the ground—the skin of her arm continuing to recede, revealing more and more bone.

 

“No...”

 

“Give me the body.”

 

A deep, but raspy voice echoed in her head.

 

“No!!” 

 

She let out a scream—fire flowing out of her body in all directions like a loose hose. The flames grabbed onto the rafts, gripping them with makeshift hands. Dozens of flames extended out from her, grabbing various parts around the ceiling.

 

“Leave me ALONE!”

 

The makeshift arms retracted, pulling part of the ceiling with it, soon followed by the entire bar.

 

Smoke filled the outside air, with German police quickly making a perimeter around the burning bar. Wolverine had stopped the fire rescue from putting out the flames—he didn’t honestly know what it would do to Bellona in the state that she was in.

 

“You saw it too right?” Logan said.

 

He retracted his claws, the blood soaking into the hairs of his knuckles.

 

“I did, they weren’t after either of us, but the girl.”

 

“Amelia…” Logan glanced back at the slow gathering crowd, still silently looking for Peter. “…call her Amelia for me.”

 

Morbius nodded. “Amelia…” He began dusting the ash from his clothing and untucking his shirt. “…how much control does it have over her?”

 

Logan didn’t move his head—it was now focused on the debris, waiting for Amelia. “Don’t know…” he sniffed the air, smirking slightly as the whiff of her scent pierced his nose. “…won’t be asking either…” he watched as Amelia pulled herself from the debris—the flaming skull was being suppressed by her skin as it grew back and the leather outfit was slowly fading away. “…but I’d be lying if I didn’t expect her to still be on fire when she crawled out of there.”

 

Logan walked forward, helping Amelia to her feet—he stuck out his arm, smirking slightly; ‘Good job kid.’ 

 

Amelia smiled back with a glare as she grabbed his hand; ‘You came over here just to see me bald, didn’t you.’ she tightened her grip, pulling herself up. 

 

The firefighters ran forward as Logan nodded, extinguishing the little bit of fire that remained.

 

Amelia’s hair was quick to start growing back, the long strains lowering down her head—as it reached the original length, her hair began to bend into waves and raise slowly, recreating the afro.

 

“If my heal’n work’d haf as gud as yurs, I’d be dangerous.”

 

Amelia shook her head, fluffing her hair with her hands.

 

“It’s because I absorbed a lot of souls in there, but now I’m all used up, no magic flame armor for a bit…” she paused for a moment looking over at Logan. "...wait, you're already dangerous?"

 

Logan laughed as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in for a hug; ‘Ya did gud kid…’ he went to rub his hand against the top of her head but stopped. ‘…still can’t touch the hair can I?’

 

Amelia pulled away slightly, her eyes glaring at him, their color fading back to normal. 

 

“Nah man, you don’t ever touch a fro.”

 

Logan turned around to the voice, he scrunched his nose, smiling. 

 

“Always here right after the fight huh?”

 

“You know me, always showing up when I’m needed the most…I also live in Cologne, which is like, four hours away, so there is that too.”

 

William ‘Will’ Dovan—born in Memphis, Tennessee sometime around 1922, and no he isn’t pushing up through his 90s. 

 

Will had always wondered why he had stopped aging once he turned twenty-six.

 

For the longest time he thought his parents had just up and abandoned him, but when Logan pointed out what he really was—he realized that they more than likely had been killed.

 

Logan had first met Will in Paris—he gave him a sniff and said; ‘Haven’t smelled your kind in awhile.’

 

Will comes from a clan that was thought to have been extinct, all traces of them disappeared sometime during World War 2—to find one not only alive, but confused about what they were, was interesting.

 

“Thought Spider-Man was coming with ya?” Will said.

 

Logan turned back around to Morbius, but still, the police were keeping his attention, going over every last detail of the events.

 

“Yur right, where is that little shithead?”

 

Peter had been taken away by two vampires before the fight started—he just let them carry him away, repeatedly asking; ‘Where are we going?’

 

They took him to a park up the road—sat him on a bench—told him to wait, then left.

 

Peter waited for only a few moments before someone appeared behind him, causing his Spidey-Sense to tingle. He went to turn around, but was quickly told to not look—his head held in place by outside forces.

 

He didn’t recognize the voice, and was about to ask a question—again—he was interrupted and stopped.

 

It was a second voice this time, this one much colder and more aggressive than the first, it was more than likely the reason his senses were going nuts.

 

“Spider-Man, Peter Parker…” the first voice spoke, her voice was calm and collected with every word. “…my son has looked up to you for a long time, even in his old age, he thinks the world of you, tonight he will need you more than ever, so please look after him.”

 

“He will kill a lot of people if you don’t.” 

 

The aggressive voice of the other brought Peter to his feet, he turned around, quickly pulling the mask back over his face, but there was no one there. He grabbed the back of his head, rubbing his hand in place before pulling it around to the front. 

 

“Bleh.” He moved his body in a shivering manner, his shoulders and arms squirming slightly. “That was a weird feeling, like a web of bleh over your face, why?” He looked around a bit more, he was completely alone in the park. Just him and light from the lamps a few meters up the street. “Who was that?”

 

Spider-Man made his way back to the group after about a half hour of walking—his head too foggy to swing.

 

When he arrived he was already confused, but when he saw Logan and Amelia standing next to another Spider-Man he was pushed just a little over the edge.

 

“What, you, you have a spider suit?” He pointed his finger outward. “You? What?”

 

Just like Peter, Will was bitten by a radioactive spider—the blood of Will’s clan rejected the radioactive particles that gave them their powers for nearly two decades before it finally broke through.

 

While Peter’s suit was a duet of bright red and vibrant blue, Will’s was a purple so dark that it was indistinguishable from black until the right lighting. The underside of his arms and down his ribs was a shade of red just as dark, but the webbing that lined the suit and spider in the center was white as snow.

 

Peter wore just a mask while Will had a hood incorporated into his suit to go along with the mask—it also did a good job at hiding his headphones.

 

Will pointed back at him, pulling everything from his head to see him; ‘I’m sorry but what the fuck?!’

 

Peter’s senses began to flare up as he looked at Will and something was telling him to look to the sky.

 

It was the moon, it was changing—slowly—but it was still changing. 

 

Like a blanket being pulled over a bed, a red shade was being cast over the moon.

 

Peter’s sense began to flare up more and more as the red covered the moon, always being the most intense when looking at Will.

 

“Uh guys, I know we haven’t really had proper introductions yet, but something’s going on with our new friend here.”

 

Logan and Amelia looked at Will, his eyes glued on the moon, his fingers twitching.

 

“Hey, you good bub?” Logan went to put a hand on Will’s shoulder, and when he did, the red had completely covered up the moon.

 

When Logan’s hand touched his shoulder, Will’s entire arm went backward, snapping at the shoulder and forearm. 

 

Logan pulled his hand away.

 

“What the fu…ck…”

 

Will’s body collapsed on the ground, his suit splitting open with his skin—revealing dark black fur. He seized on the ground, his bones cracking as his body grew and transformed to five times its size. 

 

Fur spread across his entire body—his hands grew larger and his long fingers shifted into claws and his feets expanded into paws.

 

Peter couldn’t believe his eyes, he had been wanting to see something like this his entire life—just as quickly as Will was excited to meet Peter, he was just as excited to meet Will.

 

“Holy shit, you’re a werewolf!”

 

Will raised his head to the sky, letting out a howl that sounded nothing short of pure evil—it was a low growl with a raspy undertone and sent a cold chill through the air.

 

The atmosphere completely changed as he lowered his head, his blood-red eyes looking around the area. The people who had gathered along the perimeter were all staring at him in disbelief, many taking pictures.

 

Morbius may have been the one who looked the most stunned—he rushed over to them, putting himself between them and Will. 

 

“Amelia, tell the officers to get everyone out of here and set a perimeter of fire…” he looked back at her quickly realizing that she was all tapped out. “…we can’t let him hurt anyone…” he moved his attention back to Will, their eyes locked on each other. “…werewolves get some of the strength and speed of transforming on a full moon, but they still have a choice but to transform, but on a Blood Moon…” Will let out another howl, this one darker and angrier than before, even seemingly shaking the area around them. Morbius clenched his fists, he took a deep breath as he sighed. “…they don’t have a choice…” Will barred his rows of sharp teeth at Morbius. “…nor do they have any control over their killing intent.”

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